


✾sway✾

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Kinktober, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: He loves me.⪦He loves me not.⪧Whumptober: Struggling + Crying + Broken Down + Kinktober: Aftercare + Restraints + Fingering
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	✾sway✾

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober + Kinktober = this experiment. I have a handful of different Kinktober prompt lists and the Whumptober prompt list, so I'm going to cross them over as much as I can. These two days' came from [Kinktober](https://lustyargonianmaid.tumblr.com/post/627757371721220096/time-to-start-planning-kinktober-fandom-works), [Kinktober](https://jbbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/post/627189398153363456/kinktober-2020) and [Whumptober](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated).

_He loves me._

⪦

"Kid, I'm not gonna tell you to do it. You need to make that decision."

"I wanna get out of here."

"Not yet."

_He loves me not._

⪧

"He's trying to take you away from _meee!_ Your family!"

"He loves me."

⪦

“Bright?” Gil’s calloused fingers brush his cheek.

“You love me,” Malcolm murmurs dreamily.

Gil kisses his forehead. “Yes, kid. Very much.” He pulls the comforter tighter around his husband's shoulders. "Are you warm enough?"

"Smmmm smmmm." Malcolm rubs his back against Gil's chest.

"Sleep."

_He loves me not._

⪧

"What makes you think you deserve love?"

Malcolm is laid out like a fish in the freezer, the concrete floor keeping him at optimum temperature to be someone's delicacy. His movements slow to molasses, helpless to get up from the floor.

"If anyone loved you, don't you think they'd be here by now?"

Where is here? He tries to put a finger on it but only comes back cold, frozen in permanent stasis.

"Why haven't you learned?"

What?

"My boy." A hand reaches for him.

"Bright?"

A strong hand runs over his shoulder, down his side. Creates friction, warming him a little underneath.

"You're awake. Just a nightmare."

Gil's touch soothes him back to sleep.

_He loves me._

⪦

What does it feel like to be Gil loving him? Is it like he loves Gil? Is it different?

Gil watches from the edge of the deck for awhile as Malcolm’s book goes from sitting beside him, to open, to laid out flat on his chest, his hands resting over his stomach. There’s a light breeze, a welcome relief along with the cold glass of water Gil’s finishing. Thankfully, Malcolm’s in the shade, his resting spot in the hammock undisturbed even as the sun shifts.

It’s a rare time Malcolm truly looks peaceful, lost in his own world that isn’t plagued with darkness, and Gil can’t help but want to move closer to admire his husband at rest. His sandaled feet walk down the few deck stairs and across the grass to the wooded area at the edge of the property. Crouching and sitting, he leans against one of the trees the hammock is attached to, Malcolm’s feet a short distance away.

“Hey, Gil,” Malcolm says, his voice drowsy with sleep, his eyes still closed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Gil says quickly, cursing himself for disturbing the rare nap.

“Wasn’t sleeping.” Malcolm reaches an arm out. “Come here.”

Gil shifts up to his knees and crawls across the grass, taking the proffered hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “How do you feel?” he asks, brushing a few strands of hair away from Malcolm’s face.

“Okay,” Malcolm says, squeezing Gil’s hand in return.

“If I’da known how comfortable you’d be in a hammock, I would’ve gotten you one a long time ago.” Gil smiles.

“Doesn’t really work in the loft.” Malcolm returns a sleepy smile.

“Could. We don’t have to spend all our time in the city either.”

Malcolm nods and opens his eyes. “Lay with me?”

Gil looks over the hammock, not really sure how that request is going to work, but then Malcolm starts to sit up. “You don’t have to — “

“Sit next to me, and we’ll lay back down,” Malcolm instructs.

Malcolm’s feet on the ground, balancing the hammock, Gil rises from the ground and sits on the hammock beside him. Relying on Malcolm to take the lead, Gil mirrors his actions and swivels his body in tandem, laying back just before Malcolm does, the kid then resting against his chest. Their legs intertwine, and Gil’s left in a similar position as Malcolm was before, most of Malcolm’s body nestled on top of him. “Okay there?” Gil asks, kissing the top of his head.

“Mmmmm,” Malcolm murmurs into his chest.

“It is comfortable — you’re right,” Gil says, rubbing his back. “Space heater might get a little damp, though.”

Only mumbles reach Gil’s ears instead of complaints. Figuring they’ll just shower later, he relaxes to the steady beat of his husband’s heart against him and relishes the peace they have together. It’s so relaxing that after Malcolm’s breaths even out, Gil joins him in drifting to sleep.

"He loves me."

⪦

"Yes, Bright. Shhh, sleep."

"He loves me not."

⪧

"Kid, you're dreaming. Sleep."

Is it easy for Gil to be like… Gil? How different are his shoes, unencumbered by Dr. Whitly’s feet? Is that even true?

When Gil wakes, it takes a few moments to realize the stretch along his back is the hammock. He’s hot as hell, sweat pooling at his armpits, stomach, and across his legs where they’re stuck together. Malcolm — Gil realizes Malcolm’s hand runs along his stomach where he has his shirt pulled up.

“Can I?” Malcolm asks, drifting along the waistband of his shorts. Gil’s hard-on had grown toward his thigh, stretching out as much as it could in the confines.

“Yeah, kid. Of course,” Gil says. “If you’re up for it.”

Malcolm’s head tips back and gives him an eye-roll of ‘when is he not up for it,’ but Gil ignores it and takes the opportunity to kiss him softly. Malcolm’s lips are warm from their time spent outside yet not overly so.

Making one more sweeping pass along his stomach first, Malcolm’s hand dips to run along the length of his fly, tracing the outline of his cock. Malcolm’s fingers move as slowly as their pace resting in the outdoors, languid with no urgency to do anything other than be with his husband. Gil slowly fills out under his ministrations.

“I’ll put you back to sleep like this,” Malcolm says, his smile showing through in the upturn at the end of his sentence.

“Think you were sleeping yourself.” Gil smiles at the top of Malcolm’s head. 

Malcolm kisses his chest, hand snaking lower to cup his balls in a light squeeze before returning another pass over his fly. “Were you dreaming?” Malcolm asks.

“No.”

“Neither was I. Was weird.”

“You deserve peace,” Gil says, squeezing Malcolm’s hip. Malcolm’s not nearly as sweaty as he is, only wet where they’re stuck together.

“You do too,” Malcolm says, undoing the button at his fly. The zipper follows, and Malcolm slips his boxers to under his balls, his hand now running along the underside of his cock against his stomach.

It’s difficult for Gil to watch around Malcolm’s head, but the slow movements are distinctive, the only thing Gil feels. Alternating between lightly squeezing his balls and tracing his cock, Malcolm seems entranced in his movements.

With a kiss to his chest, Malcolm says, “I’m gonna get up,” and his feet are already over the side of the hammock and standing before Gil processes what he said. Malcolm doesn’t go far, his knees hitting the ground beside the hammock and his head leaning over it, tongue lapping at Gil’s balls. His licking continues in short strokes up his cock, licks and kisses covering every bit of skin. By the time Malcolm reaches the tip, Gil’s leaking precome, and Malcolm’s tongue laps it up before engulfing his head with his lips.

Gil can see everything now, the slow bob of Malcolm’s head, his slide down a few inches before retreating to suck on the crown, abandoning his hold entirely to mouth wet kisses over his cock. Malcolm’s other hand rests at the base, squeezes from time to time, sometimes runs over his stomach. Gil pulls the bottom of his shirt up further, exposing more of his skin to cool off.

Watching Malcolm work his cock carries the same attention to detail as any of his other work. He’s lost in the moment, focused on the experience, the rest of the world tuned out. Gil glances at Malcolm’s shorts — he doesn’t seem to be visibly aroused himself. A fresh pass with more suction and sunken cheeks brings a groan from Gil’s mouth, his hand reaching out to thread through Malcolm’s hair. “Yeah, kid,” he says.

Malcolm rewards him with a twisting suck as his crown and a plunge as deep as Malcolm’s mouth will allow. It’s a slow build, a warmth growing deep within Gil to match his overheated exterior.

Gil wants to say ‘aren’t your knees bothering you?’ ‘do you need a minute?’ but each time the thought arises, Malcolm’s diving in again, taking him as deep as he can a few times, then backing off to long licks with his tongue. It’s a slow process edging him on, but it leaves Gil squirming for more, all of Malcolm’s touches not quite enough to bring him to finish.

Malcolm knows what he’s doing. A switch seems to click and his mouth sets off dipping and twisting, his cheeks hollowed in a game to see who will give out first. Gil tightens his grip in his husband’s hair. “Bright, gonna — “ He stops, taking in a breath to stave off release until Malcolm gets a chance to respond.

Malcolm forges onward, keeping up his rapid pace until Gil’s nerves light up, spilling into his mouth. Malcolm keeps going, bobbing his head a few more times and squeezing as Gil starts to come down. Lazily licking at his cock just as Malcolm had started, he cleans him off before returning him to his shorts, zipping and buttoning him back up.

Standing, Malcolm’s wobbly on his feet. He sits on the edge of the hammock and rotates back in, returning to his spot against Gil’s chest. Gil tilts his head up for a kiss, then two, tasting himself on Malcolm’s tongue. “You okay?” Gil asks, looking into his eyes, daring the blues to try to lie.

“Need to rest a few minutes,” Malcolm says, and Gil lets his chin go so he can settle his head.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Being honest.” Gil gives his ass a light squeeze. “I’m getting you one of these.”

“So I can give you more head?”

Gil chuckles and gives his ass a playful swat. “So you can get some sleep.”

“Hmmmm.”

Gil strokes his hair, runs his hand along his back, and within minutes, Malcolm’s asleep again. He takes up post looking out for him, enjoying his steady breaths against his chest.

"He loves me."

⪦

"Sleep, kid."

How does Gil love him so gently? Know what he needs? Take such good care of him? Gil brought him upstate as soon as he discharged himself from the hospital, gave him space to recuperate on his own terms. The wounds Dr. Whitly inflicted holding him captive for a few hours in his cell are more psychological than physical, yet they ravage his weakened body with physical symptoms, make the smallest tasks difficult.

"He loves you not."

⪧

"You're wrong!"

"He loves you not."

⪧

"That's not how this works! He loves me! He loves me!"

⪦

⪦

"You're all out of petals, my boy."

Malcolm scrabbles at the concrete, trying to grasp all of them with his fingers, but they disintegrate before him.

"No one's coming. No one loves you besides me."

" _No_."

"There, there," Dr. Whitly's voice mocks him in belittling scorn.

" _Nooooo_."

"Just us."

" _NOOOOOOOO!_ "

" _Bright!_ "

Malcolm wakes half hanging over the edge of a bed he doesn't recognize, half being held up by Gil and a restraint. Staring at the floor inches in front of his face, he looks for the petals to save. Tears drip to the hardwood, but there aren't any flowers left to water.

"It was a nightmare — you're awake now." Gil pulls him up to the bed. They went away for a bit. Rented a home upstate.

"Y-you love me?" Malcolm stammers, his voice coming out unsure.

"Yes, I love you. C'mere." Gil re-covers him with the comforter and pulls him into his arms, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

Malcolm's shoulders shudder, but Gil keeps him close, rubs along his side, warming him up. He slowly pieces together he’s still naked, and even though Gil tenderly toweled him off, he craves a bit more cleaning up. "I need a shower."

"Okay."

"Can you... never mind." Malcolm dismisses his thoughts as silly. Unnecessary.

"What is it?"

"Come with me?"

"You got it."

When they leave the bathroom, Malcolm comes out in Gil's sweatpants and hoodie, leaving Gil to make another trip to the dresser. Snuggled in bed again, Gil re-clips Malcolm's restraint. "The other one too," Malcolm requests. Once he's clipped in, Gil pulls him to his chest. "'m sorry."

"None of that. Let's try for another couple hours."

“Sorry I keep waking you. Home, you'd have your own bed. Could get some rest."

"We knew it wasn't going to be easy after you cut off contact. We knew. And then that jackass…” Gil stops and bites back his anger. “You're not a burden, kid. I'm just glad you're home. Here."

"I thought sex would help."

"I think it may have. You were pretty relaxed there for a little bit."

Malcolm recalls Gil bringing them inside, taking things slowly, fingering him 'til the rest of the world turned to fuzz. In those moments, his head finally let go a little bit. "Stretch me again?"

"Kid — "

Malcolm holds eye contact, and Gil predictably gives in. As his fingers grip the bedsheets, the petals reappear. _He loves me. He loves me. He loves me._

⪧ ⪦ ⪧ ⪦ ⪧ ⪦ ⪧ ⪦ ⪧ ⪦ ⪧ ⪦

No one argues any different.

✾✾

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> i've received significant support from so many people in this fandom that help make my writing possible. as this story is E, if you're 18+ and would like to chat prodigal son with wicked awesome people, come on by the [pson trash server](https://discord.gg/TVkmgxV).


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